


Gravity

by Artist_in_Space



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Analysis, Crowley's hurt and lost in his mind but Aziraphale doesn't give up, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Soft Ending, Soulmates, Soulmates AU, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), but in a poetic sense... he thinks about everything and then Aziraphale, i honestly don't know how to tag this, really soft, somewhat tbh, very poetic but in prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-30 11:08:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20770907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artist_in_Space/pseuds/Artist_in_Space
Summary: Crowley was floating in space, gravity being useless to him. He was alone in this world and it was quiet, and it was cold.That was fine with him-- until he heard his voice, the voice that he knows in his heart that he adores-- and suddenly, he wanted to go down. Suddenly he wanted to succumb to the pull of the voice, suddenly he wanted to see the being that had captured his heart and mind and soul.He wanted to go down.He wanted to go home.





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> Soulmates AU, and then I went off with space being the theme, as always in my favorite works. Not gonna lie, this incited tears from me HAHA but yeah! Hope you all like this :D

_You were always there with me, _his mind whispered as he floated through the inky black darkness. _And I, with you._

He didn’t know where he was, nor what time was, in this place. It was dark, too dark for even him to see, and his movements were languid, slow, not bothered. It was like being in water, but the water moved around you and moved you with no abandon, with no influence of gravity.

No, this place was not tethered to the laws of nature. It was… liberating. It was dark, silent, and solitary. It was different from what he knew his world was, yet he didn’t also know what _his _world was, because nothing was in his mind. It was blank, and maybe, just maybe, he could live here forever.

It was terribly cold though. He ached all over, whatever all over meant.

_Stay with me, _the words echoed. _And I shall will wait for you too._

The voice reverberated through the inky black darkness, and in his vision, several flashes of light—blinding, even to his closed eyes—appeared softly, as if to accompany the words. The warmth they brought in the cold place reminded him of something… something that he might’ve forgotten. The taste of… the taste of _his _world, the one that he lived in, which wasn’t _here._

He opened his eyes slowly, for the first time in an indeterminate period. Just to see if someone would be with him.

He shouldn’t be surprised that nothing met his eyes, but he was. Why was that surprising? It wasn’t as if he wasn’t alone from the beginning. He was… he was someone that was once bathed in light, then plunged into darkness. A separation from what he knew of home. It wasn’t new.

_Hear me, _the voice called once again. The soft flashes of light illuminated the place for a second, and his eyes weren’t fast enough to see the whole scenario—but they were fast enough to see something that he felt like he knew.

A bench.

He twitched his arm, a voluntary movement that he didn’t know he could do. Until now, at least. He moved his fingers, just to test it, and yes, they were there too. Another arm. Another hand. He used both of them to reach out, but the bench, from where he had seen it, was out of his range. He was still floating, and he didn’t know if he could move himself, suspended in nothing.

However, he wasn’t suspended in nothing, right? That… if he was, then he wouldn’t be able to—wouldn’t be able to reach the bench. Yes—he needed to reach that. To do what, he didn’t know, but he had to.

He kicked his legs into function, and he found himself propelling into a circle. He let out a small gasp in satisfied realization; he wasn’t tethered to anything. Rather, he hadn’t been moving for a long time because he chose not to. If he was more present, then he’d think of himself as lazy—but he wasn’t, because he was reaching, reaching—

He placed his hands on the bench, and pulled himself on it. He floated downwards, and he almost threw up (his stomach—empty, just like this place—seemed to lurch) because this place—whatever this bench was—it had its own gravity. Like—like an asteroid, like a planet. Like a star.

It wasn’t possible, because… because this was a simple object. For gravity to exist at this range—to throw him off to whatever had been holding him up in the darkness—the bench should’ve been several pounds of mass heavier than… heavier than he was. If he was heavy, that is, but in this area, aside from this bench, did gravity exist beyond his imagination?

_I’m here. _

His eyes widened, and he could hear the voice clearer now. It grounded him, somehow. Didn’t make him fall and float away. The bench had its own gravity and he was going to stay on it, damned it all. He wasn’t going to float away, not when… not when _he _was here.

_Don’t go, _the voice whispered now, just around the bench. His heart constricted, because he wasn’t able to comfort the voice. It sounded… it sounded broken, distraught, yet full of strength. _I believe in you. Come to me._

I’m here, he wanted to say, as he gripped on the bench. He didn’t know what to do, to broadcast his thoughts. He repeated those words in his head, with the hope that whoever he was talking to, in whatever world the other was in, he’d be able to hear. I’m here, angel. Don’t leave. Don’t leave. I’m here. You’re grounding me, and I’m not going to let go.

The darkness wasn’t jarring, but the liquid nature of it—he couldn’t explain it, but it was _there_—pushed him away from the voice. The bench that he was sitting on flickered in and out, and he felt panic seize his chest, his heart—which he didn’t know existed until now—just to call out for the voice to come back.

Don’t go. Please, he cried, and there were tears welling up on his dried eyes, you’re my world. If you go, then where would I be?

I don’t want to stay here anymore, he struggled as he willed this small area of _home _to stay. The bench wasn’t going to disappear. It wasn’t.

He tried focusing on who he we was—because all he knew as of now was that he knew that the voice who had been calling out to him was important to him. He must be, because his words didn’t detract him from anywhere. The voice was like another star to him, a presence that pulled him into the world that he knew he lived in, piercing through the dark matter that separated them.

The voice had its own gravity, its own weight, and hysterical to him it might be, he knew that this weight was his favorite word.

_I love you, _he cried out against everything, from the inky black void he was in, that unlike the world he made and he lived in. There were no plants, nor mountains, nor rivers, nor humans here. There was no light, even it if hurt him. There were no stars. There was no love. There was no—there was no angel.

_I love you, angel! _He sobbed, gripping the bench as hard as he could, imagining that there in its place, the soft caress of a hand laid underneath. One that interlaced with his-- that accepted him for what he was. His counterpart. His other half. His angel.

_Make me whole again, make me live again, _he shouted, desperate for his angel to hear him. _We’ve gone through much, angel, I will never leave you! I’m here!_

It took a moment of despair—what a moment was, he didn’t know, but it wasn’t enough for his hope to wane. When a planet orbits a star, it takes a while. When a star orbits another, it could be slower, especially if that other star was a in a form of a bit more of a jittery angel who worried about everything. But that star—as slow as they could meet each other, was his other half, the one that was brighter yet softer, to his cooler and more callous half.

He was willing to wait, because _damn it, angel, without you I’m incomplete, I’m here— _

_You’re my other half, _the voice—his angel, _his angel—_was murmuring now, closer. As if to repeat his thoughts. Wherever he was, it was near him, and he felt the bench shake. He became worried looking at the blinking lights in the darkness. His angel was distraught. _Please, wake up. Oh Crowley, please, wake up._

_I want to, angel, _he desperately answered. If he couldn’t wake up on his own, then maybe he could with some help.

He put his hands together and closed them, bringing them to his chest.

_Principality, Former Guardian of the East Gate, heal me, hear me, guide me, _he prayed, hands shaking. He never prayed before, certainly after everything he had experienced. But in this place, there was one that he would, one that he would trust that would hear him.

_Aziraphale, my angel, my love…_

* * *

He found himself cracking open his eyelids—and the light hurt, that was a guarantee—but his head was cushioned on a soft place. He blinked several times and was met with a red-faced, worried-looking Aziraphale.

Crowley finished his prayer, in quiet murmur, reaching out to place a hand on Aziraphale’s face.

Aziraphale jolted out of his reverie, his face painted with worried shock. “Crowley…?” He tentatively asked, and Crowley could feel the hope brimming in his angel’s chest, something bright and beautiful that struggled to be let out.

Crowley swallowed, letting out a wobbly smile. “Angel.”

Aziraphale let out a cry of relief, hugging him close, and Crowley let a few of tears loose. “Oh, oh… I was so worried, Crowley…. I did everything I could, I healed most of your wounds, and oh dear, you just wouldn’t wake up--!” He felt himself being hugged tighter, and Crowley relished his angel’s embrace. “I’m so glad. Oh thank… oh thank Someone. Oh. Crowley…. I thought I lost you!”

“I’m here.” He laughed wetly. He reached out to hold his angel’s hand, and he reveled at the fact that the real thing was better than what he had imagined in That Place. “Your other half to your soul, huh?” He teased kissing the hand. Aziraphale returned one to his forward, and he felt his whole being become healed—now that he was awake, it was easy to aid the miracle with his own. “My star.”

Aziraphale didn’t even look confused at the confession, knowing fully well that his demon had gone through something he didn’t know yet. Instead, he smiled softly, carding his fingers through Crowley’s hair in reassurance and comfort.

“Indeed.” He whispered. “Your other half.”


End file.
